


I'll be whoever you want me to be

by theonsfavouritetoy



Series: Law of the North Collection [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dark Thoughts, How To Please A Dude 101, Law of the North verse, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prequel, a visit to the Wintertown brothel, and the consequences, dangerous fantasies, if only Theon knew back then, mostly about Jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:48:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28838796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: Theon visits the brothel and picks the wrong whore. But waste not, want not, now he's got the boy in a room, he can very well make use of him. Unfortunately, the boy reminds Theon of someone else.
Relationships: Satin Flowers/Theon Greyjoy, Theon Greyjoy/Jon Snow
Series: Law of the North Collection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1828933
Comments: 33
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everybody! 
> 
> I know, I know, I said I would write Theon-on-Pyke first for the Law of the North collection, but for some reason this suddenly popped up in my mind and yeah I need to get it out. 
> 
> So, this is set approximately 2 years before Law of the North, so Theon's thoughts about Jon are not exactly friendly. He'll learn^^

Theon blames the lack of lights downstairs. And his slightly inebriated state. And of course he blames the boy, wrapped in naught but a linen sheet, dark curls framing a delicate, pretty face. 

“I apologize, m’lord,” the boy repeats for the tenth time, gazing at Theon sorrowfully. “It’s not the first time this happens. I’m – should I fetch you one of the girls, m’lord?” 

Theon doesn’t answer immediately. He’s tired, he’s grumpy, his balls ache, and he’s definitely not in the mood to have one of the whores he’s seen downstairs. Bad enough that Ros had been nowhere to be seen when Theon had entered the brothel, and with the rest of the ware mayhaps good enough for uncouth Northerners, but surely not for a Greyjoy, Theon had been on the verge of leaving again, when his eye had been caught by a new face, large dark eyes and those curls… 

“Nah,” Theon finally says, shrugging. “Doesn’t matter either way, I guess. Go on then, get on with it.” 

Theon undoes his breeches, sitting down on a bench set against the wall. He leans back, waiting for the boy to move. He’s a pretty one, no doubt about that, slender and willowy, with white, soft-looking skin. A little younger than himself, Theon muses as the boy comes over and sinks to his knees, eighteen maybe or nineteen. Now that he’s close, Theon can smell him, a sweet, subtle scent coming from the curls. The boy doesn’t dawdle, freeing Theon’s cock from his breeches with practised ease. Theon is half-hard already, and the way the boy strokes his prick brings him to full hardness in a matter of seconds. 

“M’lord is very big,” the boy murmurs, eyes huge as he looks up at Theon with a shy smile. 

“That what you tell every man you have?” Theon grins, satisfied when the boy chuckles. “Nevermind, I know it’s nothing but the truth in my case.” 

“Very much so, m’lord,” the boy smiles, and with that he leans forward and takes Theon’s prick in his mouth. 

“Fuck, yes!” Theon’s head falls back against the wall as his prick is engulfed in wet heat, a clever tongue curling around the head, just the right amount of suction to feel good and still want more. “You know – ah – what you’re doing, I’ll give you that.” 

The boy doesn’t answer, instead he makes a small noise, sinking deeper onto Theon’s prick. Theon groans, one hand involuntarily tangling in the boy’s hair. This feels amazing, the way he slides into the boy’s throat, in and out as he bobs his head, deeper still and the boy doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t gag, his curls brushing Theon’s bare skin, and Theon wraps them around his fingers, so soft, so silky – the thought comes out of nowhere and Theon’s eyes fly open; he stares at the head moving between his legs, at the shimmering, dark curls winding around his fingers–

 _Snow._

The image is like a fist to his stomach, blindsiding in its unexpectedness. Snow’s head down there, Snow’s pouty mouth on him, servicing him like his mother must’ve serviced Lord Stark – Theon groans, his grip on the boy’s – _Snow’s_ – hair tightening. Fucking Snow’s mouth. Snow where he belongs, on his knees to Theon’s feet, disgracing his noble father and all his _fucking_ honour – the mouth around Theon’s prick tightens, sucking him in harder, faster, his head is swimming, a flurry of images shooting through his mind, Snow on his knees, Snow’s voice making those little gasps and moans, Snow’s long, dull face painted with Theon’s seed, Lord fucking Stark’s favourite child sullied by the ward, the _hostage–_

Theon cries out, his whole body tensing to the point of pain as his balls tighten, his prick twitching in Snow’s mouth, spilling down his throat and he swallows greedily, slut, _bastard,_ and he loves it, taking prick like a common whore– 

_Whore_. 

Theon stares at the boy between his thighs, pulling off of his softening prick with a last, gentle lick. Theon blinks. Not Snow. Just some boy whore with similar hair. 

“M’lord,” the boy whispers, looking at Theon expectantly. “Was it good, m’lord?” 

Theon opens his mouth, closing it again. Aye, it was good. Better than any other time he got sucked off, making him come harder than ever before to the thought of taking what Lord Stark loves the most, tainting it, ruining it. The thought makes Theon’s spent prick twitch, makes heat curl once again in his stomach. Snow with the long face, Snow with the sullen eyes, Snow with that whore’s mouth on him, Snow with all his father’s precious _honour…_

“If m’lord isn’t done yet…”

Theon frowns when the boy’s voice interrupts his train of thought, reminding him once again that he’s not Snow. He’s still kneeling in front of Theon, eyeing his once again half-hard prick with something like respect. 

“Does m’lord want to fuck me?” 

Theon’s prick twitches at that, a shiver running down his spine. Fucking the boy… would it be like fucking Snow? Bent over the bed, dark curls wrapped around Theon’s hand like a leash as he shows him his place, shows him where a bastard belongs, even the fucking bastard of Eddard fucking Stark… 

“I’ll be so good for you, m’lord,” the boy whispers, gently trailing one finger over the length of Theon’s prick. “I can be whoever you want, I can be Snow for you if–” 

“What?” Theon’s heart is beating fast, the heat in his stomach twisting, flaring. “ _What_ did you just say?” 

“You said the name, m’lord, right when you spilled.” The boy leans away from Theon, suddenly cautious. “I apologize, m’lord, I shouldn’t have presumed – if m’lord wishes, I have never said the word.” 

The boy looks positively miserable as he gets to his feet. For a moment Theon isn’t sure what to do. If word of this ever reached Winterfell, Theon’s life wouldn’t be worth a halfpenny. On the other hand, the boy is just a whore. Who would believe a whore anyway? 

“Forget whatever you thought you heard,” Theon finally mutters. “If I hear one single breath of it–” 

“My memory is remarkably bad,” the boy says, visibly perking up. “I’m only here for a fortnight as it is, m’lord, and I won’t be using my mouth to speak very much.” 

Hm. Theon doesn’t bother tying his breeches back up as marches over to the table, pouring himself a cup of the cheap wine they keep in all the rooms, grimacing as he swallows it down. The boy watches, and once he feels Theon’s gaze on him he takes a step back, towards the bed. Without another word he turns around, moving onto the shabby mattress on all fours, arching his back. His arse is pert and round, milk-white skin, the crease glistening with oil, and arousal surges through Theon’s body. 

He’s never had a man like that, has only fucked wenches, and for a moment the old thoughts come back, images Theon had thought long buried and forgotten. 

_How would it feel? How would it feel to have something inside, to be held down, to be taken rough and hard, a deep voice moaning his name–_

The shivers return, but this time they make Theon feel nauseous, and with two quick steps he’s at the bed, gripping the boy’s hips as he positions himself, quickly jerking his prick back to full hardness before he pushes forward. The boy cries out as Theon breaches him, bearing back against his prick gliding into him with ease, tight, so much tighter than any girl, so _hot,_ and with a long, drawn-out moan Theon bottoms out, his whole length buried in the boy’s arse. Theon swallows, a tremble running through his body, he grips the boy’s hips tighter and pulls out again, and if he hadn’t already spilled before, that would’ve been the end of it. 

The boy shivers under Theon’s hands, his back arching beautifully, and with a stifled groan Theon drives back in, all the way, and suddenly the boy gasps, throwing his head back as Theon fucks into him.

“M’lord,” the boy gasps, his voice huskier than before, laced with strain, “m’lord, please, take me, I’m yours, m’lord, whatever you wish, whoever, please, m’lord–” 

_You fucking slut._

The dark curls are streaming down the boy’s nape, just like _Snow’s_ would, and Theon forgets about everything else as he drives one hand into them, ripping at them, speeding his thrusts, earning more gasps and cries and whimpers, _please, m’lord,_ aye, that’s right, Theon will show Lord Stark’s bastard what he’s capable of, he’ll make him scream his name, so loud they hear it at Snow’s precious Wall, so loud Lord Stark will never forget – Theon groans, going faster, slamming into the tight heat so hard he sees stars, furiously pounding that sweet bastard arse, taking what he wants, so good, so _fucking good–_

“Fuck you,” Theon pants, holding onto the silky curls, “ _fuck you, Snow_!”

One last, violent push and the dams break, and Theon spills his seed deep inside, his whole body jerking with the intensity of it, almost making his legs give out beneath him. 

It takes a moment to get his breath back, and when Theon finally pulls out he feels exhausted, a strange glow in his chest. The boy sighs, slowly sinking down onto the mattress. 

“Thank you, m’lord,” he says quietly. 

“I guess you charge the usual,” Theon says once he’s done his breeches back up. “Maybe deserving of some extra coin. For your bad memory, and… I enjoyed myself well enough.” 

“I’m pleased to hear it, m’lord.” 

The boy turns onto his back, his hand reaching down – Theon frowns as he realizes the boy is hard. 

“Wait, you – didn’t you–” 

“It was very good, m’lord,” the boy says with a smile. “It’s just… most of the time a man needs more than a thick cock up his arse to be able to spill.” 

“Hm.”

Theon turns away from the boy fondling himself, pulling out his coin purse and counting out the usual rate, plus an extra stag. Can’t hurt, making sure the boy remembers not to remember… certain things. Now that it’s over, Theon isn’t too sure what to think. There’s still some residue heat, flaring everytime the thought of fucking Snow flits through Theon’s mind. The ultimate sacrilege. The ultimate triumph. A part of Theon wishes it were real, wishes he could see his fucking _warden’s_ face when he learns – it doesn’t matter. It won’t ever happen. Theon’s not free to do as he pleases. Only his thoughts are free, and there’s nothing Eddard Stark can do about it.

Behind Theon the boy emits a soft whimper, and Theon turns just in time to see him spill over his hand. It bothers him, not being the one to have caused it. Not that Theon would concern himself much with the feelings of some whore, but he usually does pride himself on being a good lover. Like this… it feels wrong. 

“What should I have done to make you spill?” 

It comes out gruffly, harsh, but the boy smiles. 

“A few touches to a man’s prick work wonders, m’lord. Especially when one is fucked with such a magnificent cock.” The boy’s smile widens when Theon rolls his eyes. “Naught but the truth, m’lord. Beg your pardon if I am out of line, m’lord, but… was that your first time fucking a man?” 

“That obvious?” Theon mutters, heat rising in his cheeks.

“After some years you can tell. There is…” The boy bites his lip. “If m’lord wants to know more – I could show you.” 

“What, do you think I’m shitting coin?” Theon scoffs. “You said you won’t be here for long, and I don’t think I’ll be here that often in the next fortnight.” Not if he can’t get Vayon Poole to give him an advance on his allowance, he won’t. “Where are you headed anyway?”

“The Wall,” the boy says. “I hope to join the Night’s Watch.” 

“Woah. Someone like you got his work cut out for him there,” Theon states, earning a chuckle. 

The fucking Night’s Watch… really, this guy and Snow could be bloody twins. The thought of Snow sends a rush of heat through Theon’s body, making him bite the inside of his cheek. This has got to stay inside of this room. He can’t very well walk around Winterfell, popping random boners at the sight of the bastard. Fortunately, Theon is adept at selective thinking, and he makes an effort to ban any thought of Snow to the depths of his mind. It had been good, this little game, this fantasy. A one-time-only thing. 

“Have fun with the Brothers in Black then,” Theon says to the boy, turning to leave. 

“Until tomorrow, m’lord.” 

_Drowned fucking hell._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, obviously Theon goes back. Too tempting, this new game...

“The most important thing is to go slow, m’lord, especially when you’re with a man who doesn’t do this regularly.” 

Theon harrumphs loudly to signal the boy that he’s not a complete and utter novice, but he still heeds the advice, slowly dipping two fingers inside the slick, welcoming heat of the boy’s arse, twisting them as instructed before. 

“Very good, m’lord – oooh – and now – now you press down, not too hard, you’ll know when you’ve found the right – ooh yes, there!” 

Ha! Theon grins in triumph when the boy shivers from head to toe, arching into Theon’s touch. A small dribble of fluid leaks from the boy’s prick over Theon’s fingers and he fights the urge to wipe them on the furs, instead distributing the slippery fluid over the boy’s prickhead, causing him to emit a long, drawn-out moan. This part Theon still isn’t sure about, the thought of another man’s seed on him somewhat peculiar, but after five visits he’s mostly able to ignore it. There is more than enough to make up for it. 

Five visits, five nights of little lessons like this. Theon does his best to learn as much as he can, although he doesn’t know what for. The one man he’s ever wanted is so far out of reach he might as well be on the moon, and Theon very firmly keeps the ridiculous thoughts about having another man out of his mind – as long as he’s not in this room, with his prick plowing the whore’s arse while he pretends he’s defiling the bastard of Winterfell. It quickly developed into an addiction, this secret retribution against his warden, filling Theon’s chest with glee – even though Lord Stark will never know. 

Theon shudders, spreading his fingers inside the boy’s arse, a little too rough mayhaps, rough like he would be with Snow, hurt him just enough to remind him that he’s nothing but Theon’s whore, nothing but a means to strike his father where it hurts the most. The thought is arousing, exhilarating, and Theon speeds the movement of his fingers, drilling the slick hole clenching tight around him, until the boy cries out, more fluid leaking from his prick. 

“Good, m’lord, very – very good,” the boy pants, moving forward on his hands and knees until Theon gets the hint and removes his fingers. “This is a good point to stop. Your lover will be more than ready for your cock now.” 

“Then I suggest you stop talking and get on it.” 

Theon leans back against the wall, stretching out his legs on the bed as he waits for the boy to assume whatever position he sees fit. He’s caught on to Theon’s preferences very quickly, always facing away from him, making sure there’s nothing to ruin the fantasy. Clever little whore, Theon thinks as the boy slides into his lap, his back to Theon, black curls right there in Theon’s face. With one swift motion the boy lifts his hips, sinking down on Theon’s cock with a low gasp, and everything clicks into place once again, and it’s Snow’s arse Theon is fucking into with all his might. 

Theon closes his eyes, sweet-smelling curls dancing over his face and he tilts his head, pressing his mouth to Snow’s shoulder, one hand moving to stroke his chest, his nipples, the other hand wrapping around his straining prick. It feels so good when Theon’s ears fill with desperate moans and needy gasps, when Snow bears back down onto him, greedy for more. At first it had been nothing like this, Theon had only wanted to take Snow, mark him, violate him… it’s nothing personal, though Theon certainly dislikes the bastard. No, this is for Lord Stark. But at some point it had changed, a new thought taking root in Theon’s mind: 

Make Snow enjoy it. Make him want it, crave it even. The impact would be so much bigger, would feel so much better, Lord Stark’s perfect, honourable bastard begging for Theon Greyjoy’s cock, willingly whoring himself out to the ward, the fucking _hostage_. The image sends a spike of arousal through Theon and he opens his mouth, taking the soft skin of Snow’s shoulder between his teeth, not hard, just enough to keep him in place as he fucks up harder into his wet, warm arse, and Snow moans, keens, bearing down on Theon so hard, he wants it so bad, needs Theon’s prick to fill him up like the whore he is, like the whore his mother had been for Lord Stark–

Another wave of pleasure runs hotly through Theon’s body, right into his prick, and with a harsh cry he lets go of Snow’s skin, pumps into the Stark bastard once more, his prick throbbing, flooding him with Greyjoy seed, staining him beyond redemption as Theon spits his name, his voice raw with contempt and lust. The prick in Theon’s hand twitches, a low, bitten-off moan sounds as warm fluid rolls over Theon’s fingers. For a moment neither of them moves, but finally the boy climbs out of Theon’s lap and from the bed, turning to Theon with a satisfied smile – and just like that it is over, Snow is gone and there’s no one but this pretty, clever little whore. 

“M’lord has very skilled fingers, and an even more skilled cock. Is there anything else m’lord needs from me tonight?” 

“Don’t you think you’ve cost me enough already?” 

Theon accepts the damp cloth the boy is holding out to him, giving his prick a cursory wipe. It’s true; even with the advance on his allowance Theon had managed to get out of Vayon Poole, his funds are running dangerously low. The next month will have to be a very frugal one. The boy doesn’t answer, only smiles a deceptively innocent smile. Theon lifts an eyebrow.

“Or are you that desperate to be rid of me?”

“Of course not. M’lord is the highlight of every night you’ve been here.” The boy grins, then shrugs. “There are many patrons waiting tonight, m’lord, and as long as I get room and board it’s only right I do my share of the work.” 

Theon slowly sidles off the bed, watching the boy as he wipes himself thoroughly clean before administering a new slather of oil between his cheeks. He doesn’t seem fazed at all at the thought of getting fucked by god knows how many more pricks, Theon muses, and suddenly the question comes out before he can think better of it. 

“Do you really enjoy it so much? Getting fucked?” 

“Well, I’d better.” The boy reaches into a satchel, pulling out a comb and starting to drag it through his curls. “I was born and raised in a brothel, m’lord, it’s all I’ve ever known. There have been times where I hated it. Some men are… not many patrons treat a whore like more than a hole.” He looks over his shoulder, his mouth quirking up in a lopsided smile. “But yes, m’lord, sometimes I do enjoy a good, thick cock inside of me.”

Theon opens his mouth, only to close it again. The boy’s open gaze on him makes him uncomfortable, the way he looks as if he knows exactly what Theon is thinking. 

“It can be very good,” the boy says, finally looking away as he distributes sweet-smelling oil over his hands. “When one is fucked by a man who knows what he’s doing. There’s that secret place inside of every man’s arse that, when stimulated correctly, will make him experience the greatest of pleasures.”

Theon is starting to feel hot in the small room, images creeping up in his mind that he doesn’t want there, old fears and longings suddenly bubbling to the surface and scaring him half to death. _How would it feel…_

“I could show you, m’lord,” the boy’s hushed voice interrupts Theon’s thoughts. “I could show you how good it can be–”

It’s like a fist to the gut, and anger soars so fast in his chest it’s all Theon can do to keep himself in check, to not punch the fucking whore in the face. 

“Who the _fuck_ do you think you are? Who the drowned fucking hell do you think you’re talking to??” Theon’s chest feels tight; he clenches his hands into fists. “I am a Greyjoy, a lord of the Iron Islands, not a needy, mewling, pillow-biting greenlander slut! How _dare_ you – I should have you flogged for even _suggesting_ –”

“I apologize, m’lord, I didn’t mean – I didn’t think–” The boy has raised both hands, taking a step away from Theon. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, m’lord, I didn’t – apologies, m’lord.” 

Theon grits his teeth, willing his racing heartbeat to calm down. With quick moves he slips into his clothes, dumping a few coins on the table. He won’t come back again, not until this insolent, audacious whore is gone from the brothel and from Winterfell and safely buried at the fucking Wall. 

“M’lord.” The boy takes a step towards Theon, cautious and slow. “M’lord, please. I would never have wanted to insult you. It was a stupid thing to say. I’m just a common whore, I shouldn’t presume to know what a highborn lord would – of course you would never think of anything like that.” 

The boy’s voice is sweet, laced with regret, and Theon takes a deep breath, turning to look at him. His face is sad, large dark eyes shimmering, and part of the anger dissolves. 

“Stupid, aye,” Theon finally says. “Dangerously stupid. If you’d said this to a lesser man…” 

“I apologize,” the boy repeats sorrowfully. “I didn’t want to end your patronage like this.” 

End? Theon frowns, not quite knowing what the boy is talking about. It hasn’t yet been a whole fortnight since he first saw him. 

“The merchant who agreed to take me north with him will leave Winterfell on the morrow, m’lord. You’ll be relieved from my presence in just a few hours.” 

Oh. It comes entirely unexpected, and even though moments ago Theon had resolved not to see the boy again, the news settle on his shoulders like a black cloud. 

“I wanted to thank you m’lord.” The boy swallows, smiling a tight smile. “There aren’t – you’ve been very generous, and I know a whore’s feelings won’t mean anything to you, but… thank you, m’lord. For everything.” The smile widens, becomes softer. “Whoever it is m’lord is thinking of, he’s a lucky man.” 

_Drowned fucking god._

The boy’s got it completely wrong, and for a moment Theon thinks about telling him so. There’s no secret tryst, no mystery lover by the name of Snow. It’s only a game, an arousing fantasy. A way to rebel against Lord Stark, no matter how futile or pointless. The real Snow is nothing to Theon, a mere nuisance he has to put up with, not important enough to waste another thought on. But for some reason unknown to himself, Theon says nothing. 

“Don’t worry, m’lord,” the boy says when Theon keeps quiet. “I have absolutely no idea what I’ve been talking about just now. In fact, I have already forgotten everything.”

For a ridiculous moment Theon wants to pull out his purse and empty its whole content onto the table. 

“But I shall never forget your kindness,” the boy continues, suddenly earnest. “Farewell, m’lord.”

 _Fuck this._

With one quick move Theon pulls out his coin purse, flinging it at the boy – who catches it with slightly too practised ease. His face is a mixture between way too obvious looking surprise and smug delight, and Theon turns to leave with a smile, shaking his head. Tricks of the trade… His hand is already touching the door when a sudden thought holds him back. 

“What’s your name?” Theon asks, looking back over his shoulder, and this time the surprise on the boy’s face is real. 

“Satin, m’lord.” 

“I wish you good fortune in the years to come,” Theon says. “Farewell, Satin.” 

He leaves the room, not looking back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why, you may wonder, wasn't Satin anywhere to be seen when Theon and Jon visited the wall? I did think about it, but then that would probably have looked something like this: 
> 
> Satin: Oooh, hello, fancy seeing you here, m'lord!  
> Theon: uh...  
> Jon: *suspicious* Who's that? Where do you know him from?  
> Theon: Um. Snow - Satin, Satin - Jon Snow  
> Satin: SNOW??? 😱 Yeah, I have never ever heard that name before *winkwinkwink* Like, ever!  
> Jon: ಠ_ಠ  
> Theon: someone please kill me
> 
> So, to avoid a situation like that, we'll just imagine Satin is living The Good Life at Shadow Tower or so^^

**Author's Note:**

> I do hope you enjoyed this little thing! If so, please consider leaving me a comment ❤️


End file.
